I want to welcome and create something new into existence and use my imagination and life’s synergy to play it forward like great inventors and authors do. You know, get into “The Zone.”
It’s called “emergence,” and is a topic researchers in areas as diverse as psychology, biology, and computer science are studying. But what I want doesn’t always result from what I do.
Thoughts Become Things: What I Do
I soak up advice:
- Much comes from little.
- Start out with one thing and wind up with something else.
- Don’t try to bend the universe to your will.
- Keep your eyes open.
- Discern moment by moment what possibilities you want to explore.
- Go with the flow.
- Look for clues within.
I read the works of visionary poets like Ralph Waldo Emerson. “What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.”
And Robert Frost. “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I — I took the one less traveled by. And that has made all the difference.”
I wander aimlessly through “The Between,” where powerful, creative energies are at work and thoughts become things.
I see small orbs of light, spaced like night lights in dark hallways. I see forks in the road, in the form of distractions and small ideas. Too much plotting, too much worry. Does a caterpillar plot and worry its way into butterfly-hood? Hell no. It has things to do, like eat poisonous milkweed.
The meat of a blog post, the part that emerges from the inner creative, is available, if one knows how to retrieve it.
Maybe, I need to unlease the power of yes like Jim Carrey in Yes Man, so thoughts can become things.
“Hello inner creator,” I say, eager to relinquish the thoughts-become-things baton. “It’s your turn now.”
“Sorry, I’m not in the mood,” my inner creator says with what sounds like a bored, smartass attitude.
“Oh, yeah. I almost forgot,” I say (my own take on smart ass). “You prefer to inspire me when I’m sleeping or showering or driving my car.”
A chuckle. “That’s the only time you shut up long enough for me to get through.”
My muse is starting to sound like a therapist.
“Sorry,” I say. “You’re usually not slotted into my day planner.”
“I’m NEVER slotted into your day planner. You expect me to be on call 24-7. User!”
“Maybe later,” my inner voice adds in a softer tone. “It’ll be a test. A pop quiz. To see if you really mean what you say. You’ll never know when I’m going to show, so you better have your journal ready.
“When I get going, there’s no stopping me. I work fast, dream-time past, and then poof, all my ideas are gone, unavailable for retrieval, slippery, bubble fragile, iridescent, lovely… Like the brilliant show of a sunset, with a camera shot or journal entry the only proof it existed at all.”
I don’t dare interrupt. My inner creative is on a roll, though I don’t know where she’s headed. A fork in the road maybe or to the edge of chaos where discoveries are made. Will her thoughts become things?
“That’s how life is,” she continues, “the most beautiful, the most inspiring, the most miraculous can’t be captured or owned. Many have tried.” Another chuckle. “Architects, poets, writers. And you…”
Heck, yeah, I’ve tried. And look where it’s gotten me.
“They’ve come close, I’ll give you that. But there’s always something missing, the part that can’t be replicated, like a perfectly faceted diamond, worth nothing in a dark room. Or a marble fountain without water. Water creates the movement, the sound and can’t be owned. It evaporates, it seeps, it leaks. And it always finds its way home.
“You can enjoy the gifts of nature, but then you’ve got to let go. Without ownership, you don’t have the burden of protecting them or insuring them against flood, fire or theft. They must be enjoyed in the here and now, like warm gloves, boots, and a jacket on a cold night. No one, no matter how rich, can own what God gives away for free.
“He renews and replenishes, moment-by-moment, for people’s enjoyment and pleasure, yet they…like someone we both know…turn a cold shoulder, determined instead on creating their own Babel towers, their own stories and…
“THEIR OWN BLOG POSTS.”
Thoughts Become Things: What I Do
“Blog posts?” I say, pleased that my inner creative finally got to the point, in a round about way.
“Oh God. Did you get that all down?”
“Not that I’ve given you much to work with…”
“Blog posts only need to be 300 to 500 words long,” I say. “By the time I add headings, pictures, outside links and make it SEO friendly –”
“Okay, I get it.” My muse sounds snappy, anxious to go. “Adios, toodle-oo, sayonara, until we meet again.”
Thoughts Become Things: Happy Ending.
If you made it this far, let me reward you with a seven minute video by Mike Dooley called How Thoughts Become Things.
As always, thanks for stopping by.